


A Rash Decision

by drjamband



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Sick Fic, allergic reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drjamband/pseuds/drjamband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has an allergic reaction to a plant.  Spock takes care of him.  T for Bones' swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rash Decision

**Author's Note:**

> About a month or two ago I had a weird rash on my leg. It ended up going away on its own, but Jim is never so lucky.

Jim scratched at his leg for about the fiftieth time in one minute.  While the rest of the crew had paid no attention, Spock’s sensitive hearing picked up on every brush of Jim’s nails against the fabric of his pants, and his patience was slowly reaching its limit.

Jim opened his mouth and panted softly.  It was unbearably hot on the bridge, yet no one else seemed to be feeling the effects of the temperature change.  “Keptin, you seem dehydrated,” Chekov remarked.  “Perhaps you need vater?”

Jim tried to swallow but his mouth was insanely dry.  He coughed shakily and tried again, only to suck in a gasp and fall out of the chair and onto the floor.

Everyone swiveled to face him, but it was only Spock who moved, crouching beside the captain and checking to see that he was still breathing.  “Spock to Sickbay.”

“McCoy here.”

“Doctor, Captain Kirk has fainted.  He appears flushed and feverish.”

“I’m on my way.”

McCoy raced to the bridge and found Spock kneeling on the floor next to Jim, who was on his back and still unconscious.  The two men helped each other drag the captain to Sickbay for an examination.

“So he just fainted?” McCoy asked, stripping off Jim’s gold sweater and black pants and replacing them with a hospital gown.

“Yes.  His breathing had become slightly labored, and Ensign Chekov commented that he seemed dehydrated.  Jim then coughed and fainted.”

“And he hasn’t eaten anything different?  Used a different soap?  Touched something in the botany lab?” McCoy asked as he lowered Jim back onto the bed and hooked him up to a monitor.

Spock shook his head.  “Negative, doctor.  He has, however, been incessantly scratching the back of his left leg.”

McCoy lifted said leg and noticed four small, red bumps surrounded by flaky, dry skin.  “He’s got a rash and some swelling just above the knee,” he told Spock.  “It looks like a severe reaction to a tropical plant, but I’ll need to do a blood test to determine the exact one.”

“We were recently sent to Rica X, a planet known for its tropical climate and wildlife.  As you know, Jim was part of the away team.  It is logical to assume that he came into contact with a plant there, causing an allergic reaction.”

McCoy nodded.  “Do you know which plants are native to Rica X?  It would help me narrow down my test.”

Spock nodded once.  “Of course.  I shall compile a list and send it to you shortly.”

McCoy nodded back and watched Spock leave the room before drawing a vile of Jim’s blood and giving him a hypo full of fever reducer.

\-------

“Pudica tuberosa,” McCoy reported when Spock entered Jim’s room an hour later.

Spock nodded.  “The sap negatively affects less than one percent of humans,” he recalled.

“Well, Jim and allergic reactions defy all statistics,” McCoy groused.  “He’ll be feverish for two to three days; I’ll give you a once-a-day hypo to keep it under control.  He’ll also continue to itch, so I’m giving you a gel to rub on as needed.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “You will not be keeping him here to administer treatment?” he asked to McCoy’s back as the doctor rummaged through some drawers.

“Nah.  I figure you can handle him.  And if there’s an emergency I’m not far away.  Here,” he said, handing Spock a kit with the hypos and a bottle of the gel.  They heard a groan and turned to see Jim grimace as he woke up, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright lights overhead.  “And here’s Sleeping Beauty now.”

“Bones?”

“Yeah, kid.  You fainted on the bridge.”

“Ugh,” was Jim’s reply as he threw off the sheet covering him.  “So hot.”  Spock moved forward and placed the back of his hand on Jim’s forehead.  “Spock,” Jim sighed, the cool hand feeling heavenly against his own hot skin.

“You are experiencing an allergic reaction to one of the plants found on Rica X.  It will subside in two or three days.”  He removed his hand as McCoy handed Jim his clothes.

“You’re staying in your quarters.  I already gave Spock all the necessary supplies.  You are not to leave under any circumstances, unless it’s to come here.  And even then, only if it’s an emergency.  I don’t think you’ll feel up to much anyway,” he added as Jim struggled with the button of his pants.

\-------

They barely made it to the captain’s quarters before Jim fell onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers.  It was too hot anyway.  “Computer, set temperature to 65 degrees Fahrenheit,” Spock commanded, and the chill he felt was almost immediate.  He opened Jim’s closet and pulled on an old academy sweatshirt.  “Lights to 20 percent,” he said, and the room’s new darkness allowed Jim to open his eyes comfortably.  Spock climbed onto the bed and managed to pull the covers out from underneath Jim’s body.

“Spock,” Jim breathed.  “You’re cold.”

“That is not of importance.  You are in need of a cooler environment to combat the effects of the fever.”  Spock pulled the covers over both of them and Jim moved so he was half on Spock and half on the bed.

“Hurts,” Jim whispered, grimacing.

“What does?”

“Everything.  So achy.”

“Sleep, ashayam.  I will be here.”  Jim pushed his nose into the cool skin of Spock’s neck and went limp, falling asleep instantly.

\-------

The next two days were filled with Jim scratching at the back of his leg, Spock applying the cool, clear gel to the rash, and Jim complaining because it stung.  Spock would give Jim his hypo immediately after the latter woke up so he couldn’t try to get away.  The hypo, however, only kept the fever from reaching dangerous levels.  Jim’s temperature still stayed at a steady 102.2, and McCoy explained that Jim had to “sweat out” whatever was in his blood that was causing the reaction.

Spock handed him glasses of water, which he gulped with enthusiasm, and he let Jim eat all his favorite foods, no matter how unhealthy or disgusting he found them.  All of this was manageable without McCoy’s assistance.  The dreams, however, were something else entirely.  

The first time Jim had one of his fever dreams, he thrashed so uncontrollably he ended up punching Spock in the face, and McCoy had to come in and sedate the captain.  The other times Spock could manage on his own, but it was difficult for him to control his emotions when he was met with the sight of Jim shifting and whimpering, sometimes crying out and even screaming before he woke up.

The dreams always involved Spock, and they always involved Spock getting hurt.  Spock would wake with a sharp intake of breath as Jim’s hot body writhed against his own.  Spock would then sit up, stroking Jim’s sweaty hair away from his forehead and making shushing noises to the man below him.  Jim would whimper, his movements becoming more violent, and Spock would gather him against his chest and hold him down, kissing the soft hair on top of his head.  Eventually, Jim would let out a pained scream into Spock’s shoulder and wake up with tears dripping from his chin.  He would sob a single word--”Spock”--over and over again until he fell back to sleep, lulled by Spock’s reassurances of, “I am here, ashayam.  It was just a dream,” and the rocking motion of Spock’s body against his.

\-------

On the third day, the fever broke.  Jim awoke in his usual position: propped on Spock’s chest with his face mashed into the other man’s shoulder.  The first thing he noticed was that Spock held him in a sort of death grip.  The second thing he noticed was that he was cold.

Spock woke a few minutes later, noticing the change in Jim’s temperature.  “It’s a bit chilly in here,” Jim said into Spock’s ear.

“Computer, raise temperature to 72 degrees Fahrenheit,” Spock said, and Jim could tell he was relieved.  “How are you feeling, ashayam?”

Jim smiled for the first time in days and flopped onto his stomach, pulling the covers up to just over both of their necks.  “Like I haven’t been shot by a thousand phasers and then thrown into a sauna.”  Spock’s mouth twitched and Jim kissed him on the nose.  “Thanks for taking care of me, Spock.  I don’t really remember much about what happened at night, but I know I woke up a lot.”

Spock’s mouth twitched.  “It is my deepest pleasure and honor to care for you, James.  You are everything.”

“I love you too,” Jim replied.  It was then that he noticed the bruise on Spock’s jaw.  “What happened?”  Spock didn’t answer.  “Did someone hit you?”

Spock looked away.  “I do not wish to distress you.”

Jim’s hand found Spock’s cheek.  “Tell me what happened?  Who hurt you?”

Spock replied with an almost silent sigh.  “Very well, Jim.  At night you would become restless as a result of very vivid dreams.  You would thrash wildly, and on the first night Dr. McCoy had to come and sedate you.”

“I hurt you,” he said, stroking the injury.

Spock removed the hand and placed a kiss to the palm.  “It was not your fault.”  

“Oh, Spock,” Jim sighed.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Do not apologize.  It was a result of your illness.”

Jim reached up and lightly kissed the bruise.  “I haven’t been out of this room in days.  Wanna get some breakfast?”  Spock nodded in reply and began to strip the sheets off the bed.  Jim began to help, finally noticing how damp they were.  “Ugh.  I think I’ll take a shower first.”

“A wise decision.”

\-------

After showering and changing into fresh clothes, Jim made his way down to breakfast with Spock.  He piled his plate high with pancakes and bacon and smothered it all with syrup.  For once, McCoy said nothing, just kept on eating his grits.  “Feeling better?” he finally asked.

Jim nodded, shoving a piece of pancake in his mouth.  “Much,” he said around the food he was chewing.

“Good.  You know, Jim---.”

“Uh, Bones?”

McCoy sighed.  “What, Jim?”

“Is there apricots in this?” he asked, pointing to the bottle of syrup he’d used.

McCoy walked around the table towards the captain.  “Dammit, Jim,” he sighed as he plunged a hypo into the other’s thigh.

 


End file.
